


Truth or Dare

by AuroraNova



Series: Ties That Bind [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fifty-eight percent chance of brain aneurysm or one hundred percent guarantee that he would speak the truth when asked. Garak wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.</p><p>Can be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my G/B Ties That Bind series but there's no slash because it's developing their connection prior to any romantic relationship. Preslash, if you want to see it. ;) It also stands alone perfectly well so you needn't have read the series to enjoy. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing and make nothing.

Garak had no sooner secured the lease for his shop when he installed a discreet alarm system which would send a signal straight to Odo’s office, an addition he’d only told the constable about some time later, once they started breakfasting together (or rather, Odo watched while he breakfasted).

The four Bajorans who’d forced their way into his shop after hours – very silent work, impressively so and bearing further investigation as to how they managed this feat – hadn’t been aware of Garak’s alarm. Evidently they took him for a great fool, which was a serious error. Were he a great fool, he would be long dead. Therefore, Garak fought back only with the intent of playing for time.

He was not unskilled in hand to hand combat, but he was also not prepared to be shot with some kind of dart. He tried to yank the offending object out of his thigh but it was lodged with some kind of anchor. It had also been designed with thick Cardassian skin in mind, judging by the way it pierced his. Now his attackers stood back, which was worrisome. It meant they’d accomplished what they wanted, which was nothing so simple as his death.

“Now for some unpleasant truths, Cardie bastard. Or rather, your confessions.”

“How do we know when it’s working?” asked a small woman with perhaps the most hideous haircut ever witnessed on a Bajoran.

“When he starts talking, of course. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t waste time!” snapped the apparent leader. “We don’t know if he’s going to drop dead. Now, Cardassian, let’s talk about the Obsidian Order.”

He meant to say, I’m afraid you’ve confused me for someone with personal knowledge of that organization. Instead the words that came out of his mouth were, “Rather late for your vengeance. The Dominion took care of that for you,” tinged with far more bitterness than he would ever care to reveal.

The situation was, in short, far from ideal.

“There are many different kinds of vengeance.”

Garak knew that better than most. Blessedly, in the absence of a direct question, he was able to simply reply, “I’m aware.”

It was a relief to see Odo and two of his deputies burst into the shop. The four attackers were genuinely surprised at being caught, the simpletons, and submitted to arrest, though not without many epithets which were unfit for polite company.

When their constable noticed the projectile in Garak’s leg he pressed his combadge. “Odo to the infirmary.”

“Bashir here.”

Garak was pleased to hear the doctor’s voice. He wouldn’t care to deal with one of the Bajoran nurses at the moment, or rather, he would care even less than usual to do so.

“Garak was attacked in his shop.”

“On my way.”

Yes, the good doctor could always be relied upon to rush to a patient in need.

Garak had foreseen the potential for attempts on his life, of course, and had thus thought it prudent to locate his shop close to the infirmary before he’d even met Dr. Bashir. For one thing, proximity to a secure location could be a deterrent in its own right, and for another as much as Garak disliked being scanned and prodded by physicians he was loathe to let his enemies succeed in killing him, therefore medical intervention might be necessary. In this second consideration he’d been correct.

Too correct, unfortunately, because Dr. Bashir predictably rushed in just after the deputies removed Garak’s attackers and asked, “What happened?” before Garak could begin to fight for control of his words. Bashir scanned the impaled thigh while conducting a visual examination.

“He was attacked by four Bajorans, who are already in custody.” Odo was displeased, but Garak knew better than to take that as any personal attachment on the constable’s part. Odo was always displeased when people were attacked, very possibly because it interfered with his attempts to thwart Quark’s latest scheme.

Without his own consent Garak spoke. “I believe I was just injected with a high dose of lk’mar-7.” Which was, in fact, as powerful a drug as rumors suggested. Garak had to commend his attackers on their abilities to hear of and acquire the substance, in addition to their lock breaking.

Bashir frowned. “Lk’mar-7?”

Apparently a direct question wasn’t required; any question would do. Garak was seriously considering gagging himself. “An experimental truth serum.” He’d been trained to resist truth serums, of course. This one was potent and he had few defenses against it.

“It’s just a truth serum?” asked Bashir, as though the truth had no potential to be deadly. “That’s not so bad.”

“For the forty-two percent of subjects who don’t develop a rupturing brain aneurysm, perhaps.” Garak resisted the urge to clamp his hand over his mouth. It wouldn’t do to lose what shred of dignity he had left. “Doctor, would you be so kind as to avoid _questions?_ ”

“Yes, of course. Let’s go to the infirmary.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Quite aside from what appears to be a deeply lodged dart in your leg, you have a fifty-eight percent chance of a ruptured brain aneurysm. I don’t need to tell you that could well be fatal or at the very least cause irreversible brain damage.”

At this point Garak was far more concerned about the latter possibility. “Perhaps you’d consent to monitor my condition remotely,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not. If you do develop an aneurysm time is critical.”

Garak weighed his options. A fifty-eight percent chance of aneurysm, which itself had, perhaps, a fifty percent chance of killing him. He wasn’t certain of the precise fatality rate. Assuming he survived, what was the likelihood of brain damage? Regardless, these were not odds he would normally care to take.

Of course, a compulsion to tell the truth could be even more perilous.

“You’re actually debating this.” At least Bashir phrased this as a statement, not a question. “Garak, this is your life we’re talking about!”

“I’m well aware of that, Doctor.” A fifty-eight percent chance of brain aneurysm or one hundred percent guarantee that he would speak the truth when asked. What truly lamentable options. Garak wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.

“You can sit in my office with me. No questions, as long as you report any symptoms immediately.”

If he were merely risking death Garak would have refused. As it was, however, he risked permanent brain damage, a much more frightening scenario.

“No one else will be present?”

Bashir shook his head. “No.”

“Very well,” acquiesced Garak. “I suppose I can reread _The Plains of Ek-Kel_ in advance of our discussion.”

As usual, Bashir wore his relief on his face. He was a very poor dissembler. “And we can get that projectile out of your leg. It can’t be comfortable.”

It wasn’t, though Garak said nothing. He simply followed Bashir past a vaguely sympathetic Odo towards the infirmary, deciding he could always fashion an effective gag out of his overshirt if the situation warranted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned for this to be a 2-part tale, but somehow it's grown to three.

As promised, Bashir led Garak to his office, pausing only to give one of the nurses a brief explanation which unfortunately Garak couldn’t hear in its entirety. Was the doctor deliberately trying to ensure Garak didn’t hear the conversation? If he were Cardassian, or indeed several other species such as Romulan, Garak would have presumed that to be the case. With humans in general and Bashir in particular one couldn’t be certain. While the doctor was undoubtedly aware that Cardassian hearing was inferior to his own (information that never should have been allowed to become common knowledge across the quadrant, but, as the saying went, that vole had already bred) he didn’t know exactly how inferior, and it was entirely possible Bashir paid no particular heed to the volume of his voice. He certainly demonstrated that habit on other occasions. Garak, however, knew better than to underestimate Bashir.

In either case Garak was glad to be in the privacy of Bashir’s personal office where he was less likely to encounter questions. It was no small feat for Bashir to promise a lack of questions and Garak sincerely hoped the doctor was able to keep his word. On the Promenade he’d suggested the doctor might sedate him, but Bashir refused to mix a sedative with an unknown drug and that seemed a reasonable precaution.

Bashir waved in the general direction of two chairs. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, sitting in his own chair behind his desk. “I’ve some reading to catch up on, important developments on Bolian immunology. Let me know if you need anything.”

Garak nodded.

“I also want to hear about the slightest indication of headache, nausea, neck pain, sensitivity to light and sound, really any physical changes.”

“Very well. It would defeat the point of this exercise if I failed to report symptoms, wouldn’t it?”

“It would indeed.” Bashir handed over a padd. “It’s unencrypted, so you can download anything from the general access databanks.”

“Thank you.”

Naturally Garak first checked what the padd already contained. He was sure by this point in their acquaintance the doctor would expect that, and predictability wasn’t a trait Garak preferred to cultivate, but he couldn’t pass up the glimpse into Bashir’s habits.

As it turned out this padd was devoted to work rather than pleasure reading and therefore of minimal interest to Garak. He scrolled through the documents: a review of recent Vulcan neurological studies; a paper examining the prevalence of introduced extraterrestrial microbes in humans raised on Earth versus those raise elsewhere, and the corresponding impact on certain inflammatory markers (it seemed that overlong titles were a hallmark of scientific papers everywhere); the role of diet in Bajoran male fertility revisited; two calls for papers, one of which Bashir had flagged; a compilation of case studies on joined Trill subjected to unusual medical situations; a multi-lateral approach to drone microsurgery in Bajoran lymphatic systems; and a Starfleet Medical update which might have been interesting but required a valid thumbprint to open.

Lacking any accessible reading Garak resumed his original plan to download _The Plains of Ek-Kel_. He had to scroll through several translations before finding the original Cardassi and was rewarded with the original author’s preface dating from the First Republic period, before the preface was deemed too celebratory to print. Privately delighted with the opportunity to read something to which he’d never enjoyed access, Garak resolved that he would in the very near future check the database for other banned text.

When he was engrossed in the second chapter, and regrettably during a particularly amusing scene involving a rengor hunt, Bashir broke Garak’s concentration by standing up. Garak didn’t let on, though it did occur to him in that moment that he would never be able to explain the scene’s humor to the doctor.

“I need water,” announced Bashir. “Would – that is, I’d be happy to get you something from the replicator.”

“Water would be appreciated.” After all, dehydration would not improve his condition in the slightest.

When Bashir returned with the water he said, “If you have any idea how long this lk’mar-7 stays in your system, I’d appreciate you sharing it.” His Cardassi pronunciation had improved somewhat since they began their literature discussions, progress for which Garak gave himself some credit.

“Unfortunately I do not. To the best of my knowledge the drug was abandoned early in the experimental stage for reasons we’ve already discussed.” Which meant that he needed to look into how his assailants obtained it. “As I recall, the risk of aneurysm was slightly higher for women than men.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Such an odd phrase. No matter. Garak truly didn’t have any more medically relevant information on lk’mar-7. He was aware of several rumors and half-facts regarding some of the test subjects, and could speculate further. For instance, it was well known in certain circles that the Order had for at least a decade been working on improved truth serums with an ultimate goal of one such substance which would also erase the subject’s memory of ever having spoken their secrets. Simple and elegant in theory, but difficult to achieve in practice.  

He was five pages into chapter three when he noticed the lights seemed to glare more offensively than usual. “I don’t imagine you’ve raised the lights,” he said.

Bashir reached for his scanner and made his way to Garak. “No.”

“I thought not.”

While the doctor was studying his readings Garak felt another symptom. “I have an unusually sudden headache.” There. Nobody could say he’d been less than perfectly forthcoming about his physical state today.

“Where?”

“The base of my skull.”

Bashir focused his scanning efforts in that location and determined, “It’s definitely an aneurysm. I want to get you in the neuro unit.”

Ah yes, the neuro unit. The new improved machine had arrived several weeks ago and Bashir was very pleased with it. “This seems a prudent time to ensure your Federation neuro unit is sufficiently compatible with Cardassian physiology.”

“Don’t you think I’ve already made certain of that?”

“My apologies, Doctor. I should never underestimate your dedication to your patients.” Even the lowliest and most reluctant among them, it seemed.

The neuro unit completely encased Garak’s head. He didn’t at all care for this and had to resist the urge to swing his feet just to prove he wasn’t entombed. If Bashir noticed a slight increase in heart rate, he would no doubt attribute it to anxiety related to the aneurysm, a fact in which Garak took some comfort.

“Alright,” said Bashir, blessedly removing the neuro unit, “this isn’t an especially severe aneurysm. We’ll start with katmarizol.” He walked across the room, loaded a hypospray, and returned. “Wrist, please.”

As opposed to the side of the neck, where most species on the station received hyposprays, Garak took them on the wrist. A simple needle between neck ridges would have done just as well if the Federation cared for needles.

Several silent minutes later, during which time Bashir monitored his scans and Garak practiced pain moderation breathing without notable success, the doctor said, “I think nanobot surgery is going to be the best option here.”

“As opposed to?” inquired Garak. He would prefer not to host nanobots in his body.

“Opening up your skull or sitting here while it gets worse. I did some research and aneurysms are more likely to rupture in Cardassians than most species, from what little information I could find.”

“I had no idea Bolian immunology research covered Cardassian physiology.”

“I didn’t want to alarm you.”                                                     

“The fact that I agreed to sit in your office should have told you I was already alarmed.”

“I mean any more than you were.”

Sometimes humans had the strangest notions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took far longer to finish than I'd anticipated. Sorry to leave everyone hanging... but you knew I wasn't really going to kill of Garak, right? ;)

Federation medicine did deign to use needles for the introduction of nanobots, as it turned out. Garak wouldn’t have been surprised if instead the machines were inserted via nostril, ear canal, or some equally inefficient method. But no, some common sense existed at Starfleet Medical because Bashir placed the nanobots in a large needle, to which he added fluid.

“Would.” The doctor caught himself and started over. He’d been very diligent about not asking questions and Garak appreciated that greatly. “I can give you a local anesthetic if you’d like.”

The offer gave credence to a belief, widely held in certain circles, that humans were soft. Garak had seen enough to know that as a species they were capable of much more than one might suppose at first glance, but really, local anesthetics were so uncalled for in this situation he could see where others got the impression that humans were weak. Besides, under no circumstances was he going to allow anyone to stab him while he was unable to register sensation. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

“There is a painkiller in here. I won’t perform surgery without it,” added the doctor, presumably to forestall a protest which at the moment Garak wasn’t inclined to trouble himself over.

The injection was just a moment of very minor pain where Bashir inserted nanobots behind his ear ridges. More troublingly the procedure required Bashir to once again place the neuro unit on Garak’s head. Well, one endured what one must, and Garak’s expertise in that area was not inconsiderable. He resumed his pain moderation breathing while Bashir concentrated on the nanobots.

Garak often found himself with far too much unoccupied time and had recently wondered at the origins of the Borg. Was it a process which began with something similar to nanobots? Impossible to verify either way, but it wouldn’t surprise him. He was aware from Federation News Service reports (which simply gave away astonishing amounts of valuable information) that some Federation citizens were now very concerned about just this prospect.

He hadn’t yet found the right opportunity to discuss the idea with Bashir. The doctor did not, it appeared, fully automate his nanobots; rather he focused on the controller pad, inputting a constant stream of directions and occasionally muttering, “There.” Whether this indicated an underlying level of distrust with fully automated nanobots or a measure of medical preference, Garak couldn’t say.

The procedure took less time than he’d anticipated, leaving Garak to wonder just how much reading on Cardassian physiology the doctor had done for his lone Cardassian patient, and if any of his motivation came from their personal acquaintance or it was all strictly resulting from the doctor’s very admirable sense of duty. For all the doctor failed to give his state (or rather, states: Earth and the Federation, and how was one to decide where to devote one’s primary loyalty with such an arrangement?) appropriate priority, his devotion to duty was beyond reproach even by Cardassian standards.

“That should do it,” announced Bashir. “I want to keep the neuro unit on for a few more minutes to monitor the progress. Of course, you need to stay in the infirmary until the lk’mar-7 has been fully metabolized, which at this rate should be approximately two and a half hours from now.” A pause. “And I think that remote monitor will be called for overnight.”

“I don’t imagine the remote monitor is optional.”

“You can always spend the night here instead.”

Garak could, of course, refuse the remote monitor. Starfleet and Bajoran militia personnel might not be given a great deal of freedom to ignore medical recommendations, but Garak was accountable only to himself and fully capable of being so obstreperous. However, to adapt a human phrase he’d recently learned, in for a strip of latinum, in for a bar. “The monitor is less objectionable.”

“Monitor it is, then.”

Garak was pleased when Bashir removed the neuro unit and pronounced the surgery a success. Now it was past time to be rid of the nanobots. Before he could ask how the doctor would accomplish that Bashir said, “For nanobot removal you have two options: I can remove them with a small blood draw, or you can wait for them to crawl out of your ear.”

“The blood draw, if you would.” He was inclined to take the more efficient, not to mention less disturbing, option. As a Cardassian his hearing was already disadvantaged compared to most of the station’s residents; therefore Garak was not inclined to compromise it further with whatever noise nanobots would make in his ear canal.

He wasted no time retreating to the relative sanctuary of Bashir’s office once the nanobots were removed, not least because a pregnant Bajoran woman entered the infirmary and didn’t look pleased to see Garak. There he and the doctor both resumed their reading. This was interrupted once when Bashir was called out to see a patient.

“There was a bit of a brawl at Quark’s,” said the doctor upon his return. “One of the Denobulan researchers was three millimeters away from losing an eye.”

Garak was sorry to have missed it, if only because he’d always wanted to see the Denobulan’s defensive face-puffing in person. “I imagine Quark is trying to overcharge for damages as we speak.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Hold out your wrist, please.”

When Garak complied, Bashir made a face that indicated his scientific interest was piqued. “Interesting. I’ve been analyzing the blood I removed with the nanobots, but your body is metabolizing the lk’mar-7 faster than I anticipated.”

“I do hope that’s as good as it sounds.”

“It’s very good. Must be some quirk of Cardassian physiology.”

Ah, the doctor was merely perplexed, not concerned. Garak found his place in _The Plains of Ek-Kel_ and left Bashir to his examination of lk’mar-7. Judging by the human’s always expressive face, he was fascinated by the metabolization of lk’mar-7.

The fifth chapter of _The Plains of Ek-Kel_ was not, in Garak’s opinion, the most eloquently written, and it was certain to draw Bashir’s ire for reasons unrelated to word choice, namely, the melting down and sale of irreplacable artifacts to provide the state with much-needed resources. Ancient artists might not have foreseen that their dilithium sculptures would one day fuel starships, and this was known to have happened in recent Cardassian history. Bashir would protest the destruction of unique treasures and the communal past, there was no doubt about it, all the more so because the first three years of war saw dreadful losses which were arguably not worth any potential gain. Which didn’t matter – or rather, the point was that it was not the individual’s role to question the state’s decision to fight a war – but Bashir would be irate, all the more so because the novel didn’t end with a decisive victory. For some reason he would expect the sacrifice to have been retroactively justified. Completely unnecessary, but very human.

How could Garak explain? A sacrifice made with expectations was not a real sacrifice. That perhaps Bashir would concede before delving once more into what he would perceive as the injustice of expecting Mardin to contribute so much to a war when he hadn’t the least say in governance. Garak could counter with several theories about the flawed nature of representative government, Bashir would object to all of them…

“Garak.”

“Yes?”

“We need to see if you can lie. I’m going to ask a question even you can’t be bothered by.”

Garak raised an eyeridge. “Are you very certain, Doctor?”

“I am. What book did you tell me you were planning to read this evening?”

To Bashir’s credit the question was harmless. To Garak’s dismay, despite his intent to name _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_ , he replied, “ _The Plains of Ek-Kel._ ” Thrice-cursed voles, he felt far more exposed than he would have if he’d been sitting in Bashir’s office completely unclothed.

“Alright,” said Bashir, despite the situation being anything but all right, “the lk’mar-7 is obviously still affecting you. We’ll try again soon.”

Garak decided that the doctor simply had to read Pudan Kolet’s famous essay, “On True Leadership,” which perfectly explained why representative government was heavily problematic at best and disastrous at worst. He didn’t really expect Bashir to change his opinion, though it would be a pleasant surprise indeed. No, he held the more realistic hope that Bashir would understand the logic behind the Cardassian view, even if he could not subscribe to it personally.

It took far longer than it ought to have for Garak to find the essay because some imbecile had used a horridly inaccurate transliteration of Cardassi characters for Pudan Kolet. Insulting, really. He’d just downloaded the essay to the padd for Bashir’s convenience when the doctor returned with his scanner.

“What book did you tell me you were planning to read this evening?”

“ _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_.” Lying had never been so gratifying as it was in that moment.

“What station are we on?”

“Federation Starbase Nineteen.”

“Under whose command?”

“Captain Picard.”

Bashir nodded and set aside his scanner. “You clearly have no problem lying.”

“Have I ever told you about the time I hunted a pair of targ?”

“I don’t believe you have,” replied Bashir with a little grin. “Where was this?”

“Qo’noS, of course.”

“Only the best. Let’s get you a monitor; I’m sure you’re ready to leave.”

“Oh, no, Doctor, I really had no other plans for the evening.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t?”

They both knew that Bashir would always cancel plans to insure his patients’ health. All the same, when Garak replied, “I thank you for prioritizing my wellbeing,” he said it with sincere gratitude. He had managed to get through the episode without sharing a single damaging secret and as minimal a level of humiliation as he imagined possible.

Bashir truly was an excellent doctor, and, as humans saw relationships, quite a good friend as well. In Cardassian terms Garak supposed they’d forged their own alliance of sorts even if the doctor hadn’t realized it.

He answered Bashir’s targ hunting questions with a spontaneously generated set of parallel lies and was in good enough spirits to accept the remote medical monitor without complaint.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to clarify that I don't think brain damage would necessarily be worse than death in all cases, but I very much see Garak preferring death. One, I don't imagine Cardassians being very concerned with helping the disabled, and two, Garak has nobody but himself. Yes, he and Bashir are developing their friendship, but Garak sees himself as alone and would be loathe to depend on anyone else even if it was an option.


End file.
